International Relations
by The Pepper Pot
Summary: A quick look at the America-Britain dynamic through history.
1. Chapter 1

"Really, America, it's not so bad, you know, being a colony," Canada argued. "You're fairly powerful; you may gain dominion status in the next few decades." It was 1765, and America felt he was ready to move out of England's house once and for all.

"But it is!" cried the southern colony. "You don't understand that it's because I've grown so powerful that I need to leave. I'm being exploited with overpriced goods in return. I'm not even allowed to trade with other countries. England's wonderful, but he's always trying to dominate my decisions." Frustrated, the American Colony slammed his fist against the table. "I've had enough of it!"

The smaller colony flinched, hugging his bear. He watched in relative silence as America, pacing back and forth, fumed. "You do know that though we've been as brothers, I will side with England for this if you fight, eh?"

America stopped pacing and sighed. He turned and looked frankly toward Canada. "I will always love you, but from here on, I can never trust you, you do realize that, right?" There was regret mixed with ambition in the colony's voice. "From here on, I'll watch my back for you; you're too close."

Canada saw the look in his eyes and relied that argument was useless. He rose to leave but an s he walked away, he said, "Be careful. England's not cruel, but he's powerful and can be dangerous." Then he went to his apartment down the hall.

America shifted his weight and looked into his mirror with conviction. He straightened his jacket and adjusted his collars and tie. "England, I'm leaving today," he told his reflection. He turned and walked out of his own door to see England in his private wing.

Five minutes later found America outside England's office trying to compose him before walking in on England. It was proving to be harder than he had thought it would be, demanding his independence. He finally took a deep breath. Straightening his shoulders and jacket, he raised his hand to knock at the door.

"I was just out. I something the matter, America? You look like you have something to say. Is it the Natives again? I can send more troops if you'd like." England had walked up behind him from down the hall; no doubt he had seen America pacing there for some time. He opened the door and walked in, leaving it open for America to follow.

America shut the door behind him and ignored the offered chair. "England, I've come to a decision; I need representation in Parliament of I will declare my independence."

England was speechless, and then smirked in a not completely unkind way. America had bothered him about it for years now, but always in passing, never had the colony been quite so forceful. "America," he began. "You know as well as I do that I cannot give you representation in Parliament. You people, though numerous enough to warrant representation, live three weeks by ship from me. It would take two months to deliver any legislation it's simply impractical."

He stopped to take a breath, and America interrupted. "Two months isn't so bad; we can work around it. We could use a rotating representational system."

England smirked again. "I'm sorry, but it simply cannot be done, sessions are usually short and in delivering news to the people and spreading it around the countryside, as you have no centralized mail system, it would take too long for voting to take place. I'm sorry but it'll never work. Why does this come up so suddenly? Are you displeased with my legislations?"

America was growing impatient. He didn't have anything to say to that. "No, but it's always a shock when the taxes are lifted. It's getting to be intolerable. If you won't give me representation or power in another sort, I'll leave."

England chuckled. "You seem so sure of yourself. You think I'm nothing without you, but really it's the other way around. I take very few taxes from your people in proportion to what I take from my own subjects living here, and you have a net income from the budgets I give you. You'll have to tax a lot more harshly than I do if you're to get anywhere; there aren't many living with you compared to with me."

America was now livid, "You don't understand. They don't want to pay less taxes; all they want is their freedom!"

England stood up from his desk, face predatory. America stood his ground as England walked around the table. "You just don't get it; you have no centralized government, no royal family, the people aren't used to whatever system you'll put in place, and you're thirteen colonies, more fractured than Italy is right now. You're beautiful when you're angry. There's simply no way it can work out, all the great minds here and in the colonies would agree with me. You'd better stay with me."

America was caught off guard. "England, did you just say-" He was cut off as England closed the gap between them and stopped his mouth with a kiss. From the beginning, it was clear England had no intention of backing down. The kiss, though wonderful, was very forceful. America gasped as England bit his lip, demanding entry and America complied. England swept his skilled tongue around his colony's mouth and extracted a moan from him.

America tried to struggle free, but couldn't seem to manage. Why was England acting this way? Was he...a homosexual? Though America was a good two inches taller than England, the country was still much stronger than the colony, and he was pushed up against a wall. England started to wander from his mouth, trailing kisses down his neck and nipped at his ear lobe, making America moan louder. He didn't want to love the way it felt, but he did. It was amazing. His hands wandered up to England's chest and began to feel around. After a minute, they lowered and started to feel for lower regions and England bit him hard on his shoulder. "You'll do as I say." America should have been furious, but there was something sexy about being kept in place by such a powerful country. England continued his ministrations and began to undo his jacket, vest, tie, and shirt. Finally they were all off and Britain pinned America's arms above his head as he dragged his tongue across America's bare chest, drawing a gasping moan as he passed a brown nub. He bit gently and licked, getting interesting sounds from his colony. "Do you like that?" America whimpered. England set to grinding and corrected, "Answer me when I speak to you."

America groaned and managed, "England …"

The country smirked sexily. "Now undress me, America." America struggled to get his hands down. "Without your hands. Be creative, you claim to be good at that." America was at a loss. He bent down and tried to unhook some buttons with his teeth. He trailed his nose on England's chest as he pulled them apart with his mouth. At last, he had fixed all the buttons and the country was as bare as he was. He tried to start on England's pants, but England had other ideas. He was released and then brought down onto the sofa across from England's desk. England towered above him and then covered the colony with his weight, bearing down onto him, grinding their hips together. It felt amazing. America arched into the pressure, wanting more, feeling himself getting hard. England felt him too and set to unclasping the colony's pants and looked down upon his member. England began trailing his tongue down Alfred's body, shifting his weight as he went, stimulating the colony's nerves and increasing his blood flow.

"Oh! A-ahhhh!"Alfred was going insane. What a tease! He groaned loud and bucked up against the other country, trying to get him to do something. Anything. England felt this and smirked down at him. "Do you think you're giving me orders?" America blushed and cast his eyes apologetically, and England continued his ministrations. He grasped his erect cock in the palm of his hand and began to move his hand far too slowly. He couldn't give an order, but he could beg, couldn't he?

"England, oh please for god's sake, stop teasing me." It seemed to work, because the English man gave him a squeeze, eliciting a moan and a shudder, and swept for another kiss.

"That's what I like to hear. Beg." He blew on the tip of America's cock for emphasis. He continued to slowly run his fingers over the shaft and stooped to lick his sac.

America gasped and continued, "E-England! Don't tease, it's too cruel! In god's name, either do it or not." This seemed to satisfy England, as he suddenly swallowed America's member into his mouth, gag reflex expertly avoided. He began to suck, and America bucked again, only to be forcefully pushed down by the stronger man.

The mouth was gone and he was still hard, his member standing proudly, dripping with pre. He felt a harsh bite to his hip and gasped, offended. "You thought you'd get away with that? I think not." He continued to suck his cock, pressing down the colony's hips firmly, and America was getting rather light headed. Then the humming started. It took a moment for America to realize that England was humming "God Save the King" around America's member. It felt too good, and he hated England for it; he was literally cumming to England's tune.

"A-ah!" He felt his sac tighten "I'm gonna…g-gonna!"

England smirked. "Not if I can help it," he said, cruelly. Now America felt England's fingers being pushed into his mouth. "Coat them." America couldn't respond and was forced to do England's bidding. He felt his saliva gland prodded and his mouth reacted. The fingers were retracted and England was lost from his line of vision. America then felt strong hands moving his legs apart, one over England's shoulder and the other to his side. Warm breath blew over his painfully hard cock and a finger was pushed none too gently into his anus.

It moved strangely, but not too uncomfortably. It wriggled around, stretching him in strange ways. Then a second finger was added, and felt the scissoring inside of him. He wanted to say, 'I don't stretch in that way!' but England wouldn't have listened to him. The third finger was added, and it was painful. Then something was hit. The small bundle of nerves was hit and as England prodded, America's vision flashed white and black, unable to help him from screaming. Britain caught the scream in a kiss and held him still. "Quiet, you." America was then reduced to whimpering.

The fingers were gone, but America heard fabric rustling and then, something else replaced them. Something thick and slippery, pressing into him, stretching him, tearing him. America wanted to scream, but knew it would be worse if he did; England had told him he couldn't, and he wouldn't. England held still for a few moments, feeling the Colony relax around him. When America was calm enough, he started to pump in and out. America felt like he was dying. Then England hit it again; that spot. The pain melted away, and America shouted, "Oh, god, England, do-that a-again!" Britain slammed into him, bringing stars into his eyes. America felt himself getting close again. "Ah! I'm-mm ahhhh!"

"No. Not yet," commanded England, coldly. He continued to thrust, and America felt his control slipping. "Now!" America felt himself filled with semen and couldn't hold on any longer. He came on cue, squirting strands of cum all over their chests. England fell forward onto America, crushing him so that he could not move. After a minute, he looked up, smirking, and kissed him one last time before biting him gently but sternly on the tongue and then getting up to dress. As he dressed, back turned, allowing America to do the same, he continued from where he left off.

"As you see, America, you don't have to be in control of yourself to enjoy yourself. I will make all the decisions, and you'll enjoy it more than if you had. If you didn't have me dominating you, answer me this, where would you be? Where ever it would be, it would be lonely and less interesting than what I offer you. I suggest that you remember when you next try to rebel, that I'm more powerful, stronger, and more experienced. Rebels will be put back in their places."

America was livid. He finished dressing in silence and slammed the door open. "I may not be leaving today, England, but I won't be around forever. And some day, I'll end up on top." He shut the door and limped down the hall to his rooms.

So, you like? Tell me in the comments! It's my first fan fiction for Hetalia!

* * *

I straight up don't remember writing this. I hope its good. Read and Respond!


	2. Chapter 2

"England, you're taking this the wrong way!" America paced back and forth in England's office trying to think of more words to get his point across with.

England picked up a stack of papers almost six inches thick and thumbed through it. "America, you've been telling me for half a century now that you're discontented with how I've been treating you. How else am I supposed to take it?" He looked over the last document. It had arrived only that day. America's Declaration of Independence.

America walked over and looked over his shoulder, unsure of what else he could do. There it was, with all the signatures of his most prominent politicians. "I love you, Britain. I just can't live like this anymore." Then he noticed that England's green eyes flashed not with fury but with regret and sadness. He took his declaration from England. "I'll take that. It's my first documentation as a country." England's hands were empty and he turned them over. America picked them up and held them as he kissed the older country sweetly on the jawline and up to the eye that looked so tearful it almost hurt to look at.

England tried to remain regal and the tear dripped without a blink, running down onto America's nose. "I love you. I've always loved you. You've been my favourite colony." He let America continue to flutter over his face, avoiding his lips as he spoke. "I'm not going to let you go if I can help it. You may think you're ready to rule, but I don't think I'm ready to let you go." America had heard enough and covered his lips tentatively with his own. England pressed into the kiss, still hardly moving.

Encouraged by this reaction, America lowered their still intertwined hands and stepped closer, their bodies almost brushing. "I never meant to hurt you, but I can't keep living like this. I've got another destiny which I must fulfil." England didn't respond, instead he just took over the kiss, manipulating his colony's mouth and pressing his tongue in. He had to remain dominant. His skilled tongue flickered around the sensitive teeth and though he felt America's attempts to keep his tongue at bay, England had picked up a trick or two from France in all those years they had spent together (as much as it disgusted him at times). America moaned slightly into the kiss and Britain smugly wrapped his tongue around the colony's before snaking his arms around and pulling him closer. They broke apart for air. "Wow that was a rather fancy snog." Then he blushed, realizing he had said it aloud. Britain grinned before beginning work at untying America's ascot. "This doesn't mean I'm yours."

England tried to ignore this bold proclamation as he continued undressing his colony. The younger quivered at his touch around his neck and he breathed against his ear, whispering, "We'll see; you've announced you're independence, now let's see you enforce it." America shivered as the hot air swept by his sensitive skin. England nipped at the lobe as he noticed the effect it had on the younger. Vest and jacket removed, England moved his hands under America's shirt, feeling the lean, almost fragile frame. He'd gained some muscle, albeit the stringy and wiry sort. The shirt was pulled over America's head for speed. England's hands roamed over America's chest and tickled the sensitive bits as they were found, stopping to pay extra attention to America's dusky nipples. America whined a little as the hands, joined by his tongue, travelled farther south. England ghosted over America's pants but did not touch. "I think we need to go to a more private room."

America helped England to his feet and brought their lips crashing together. They stumbled through the bedroom door and Britain shoved America onto the bed. America gave an airy "ooph!" as the air was knocked from him. He couldn't feel England, but he felt his hands pinned above him and then a knot was tied around his wrists and was looped around the head of the bed, rendering him trapped. "Hey, what gives?" America sounded pissed, but his protest quickly turned into a moan of pleasure as England began to paw at his crotch.

America watched as England began to unbutton his own pants and let his own aching member out, stroking it slowly and tantalizingly and humming to himself. America's mouth suddenly seemed very empty. He moaned at the sight of Britain's positively gorgeous cock weeping in front of him. He wanted something to be done to him. "England…"

England looked at him quizzically, as if he didn't know exactly what America wanted. "America, is there something you need?" America was in a trap. How could he tell the older nation, in this demeaning position, no less, that he wanted nothing more than to blow him to completion? Instead he kept his eyes trained on England 's stiff and proud erection. "America? You can tell me if you need something." There was an element of condescension and mock concern in his voice now.

America found his voice. "England…let me…suckyourcock."

England sneered. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I couldn't quite hear you. And look me in the eye when you speak to me."

America cursed under his breath. He had to repeat himself? He tore his eyes from that beautiful sight and his breath was cut short when he saw the feral look in England's eyes. He wanted the man even more now. "England; please let me suck your cock. You look so fine and so proud." England grinned down and moved to straddle America's chest, inching his way towards America's waiting lips. America watched as the dripping cock bobbed its way towards his mouth. He stuck out his tongue to make the contact sooner. England paused, shifting his weight, knowing how it was tantalizing America. Then America felt the intrusion. England certainly was large; as he pushed in, America gaged in response. He began to lick up and down the swollen length and tried to pleasure Britain.

As America struggled to suck England's member, he felt the it slowly leaving his mouth. He tried to sit up to follow, but from England's position on his chest and his ropes, he couldn't and the wondrous cock was gone from his sight. The he felt England's still shod feet cross over his chest as England put his hands against the wall so that he could brace himself. America sensed what was coming next and quickly opened his mouth and the back of his throat so it wouldn't hurt or cause him to gag. England began thrusting into his mouth, heavily and forcefully. It was a struggle for America to provide any additional pleasure with his tongue or lips and England moved in his mouth. England started moaning, "Ahh! America! Ohhh! I'm sooo…close!" A few more thrusts and he came deep, pushing his semen down his throat, choking America. He pulled out slowly as America cleaned him off, sucking gently.

A glance behind him showed him the effect of his actions. "America, you seem to have gotten rather hard." America's still clothed erection was tight against his pants. "Was all this because I shagged your mouth?" The colony nodded and blushed. Britain moved a hand over to America's bulge, teasing it with his hand, palming the tip. America moaned loudly. He was fully hard; it wouldn't take much for him to come now. England sneered at America in the sexiest way possible, a gilt of pure evil flashing in his eye. "This really is something." He stroked along the length, watching America writhe under the touch. "Oh, am I really all that?"

"England, stop teasing me. It won't be much longer." He panted heavily as England did not move to undress him or pause in his petting.

He smirked, "America, you've got to learn patience." He bent down and breathed in the scent of America through his trousers. America moaned and bucked against the face, and England nuzzled against the straining cock. "Oh, you're eager, aren't you?" England licked him through his pants, making America nearly scream and arch upwards. "Now, now, let's not get so worked up. I haven't even really done anything yet. Just wait until the real work begins."

He continued to palm Alfred through his pants until he shouted and came. "England!" He tried to ride out his orgasm by fucking England's hand.

England looked utterly disgusted by America's reaction. "Really, America, I thought I had taught you better than that. Being eager is one thing, but coming in your own pants is just..." On the last few words, England let his chastising persona slide as he let on that he was indeed turned on by his protectorate. "digusting, you dirty whore." He removed the colony's pants at last and began to clean up with his skilled tongue. America huffed and moaned when ticklish or sensitive spots were touched. By the time he was all clean, England had noticed another problem. He leaned over America to kiss them, and took the opportunity to rub his half-hard length against America's crotch. "America, I need you."

America blushed, but automatically readjusted his hips so that England would have a better access. England felt down America's lower back and kneeded his cheecks together. His arse felt so fine, he couldn't wait to pound it into the mattress. America heard rummaging in the bedside table as England leaned half off the bed to get a bottle off lube. He squeezed some onto his hand and pressed a finger into America's entrance. America wriggled at the strange, yet pleasant and somehow comforting, intrusion, starting to grow hard again himself. "Hurry up!" England complied and pushed the next two fingers in at once, making America regret his words and squirm over the mattress. His protests quieted down when Britain started moving his fingers and hit his prostate. He continued to finger fuck him until he was sure America was stretched out enough to proceed. England removed his fingers and America whined at the loss, writhing beneath him in anticipation.

England quickly coated his cock with lube and lined up with America's entrance and pressed in. He was so tight that he had to stop for America to adjust, his face all bent up in pain. England leaned forward and kissed the pain out of the creases on America's young face, then chastely sealed their lips. Well, as chaste as a kiss can buried balls-deep in your lover who is tied to the bed and unbelievably tight. America slowly grew accustomed to the very large cock in his arse and nodded to his lover to begin moving. England rocked backwards and slammed back in, making America wince. He didn't stop however, and continued to press slowly and forefully into America. He hit America's prostate and America gave a loud shout as he convulsed beneath the Brit. England aimed again and again for that spot, hitting it nearly every time. He felt America's walls tightening on himself, giving him friction, letting him feel the pressures as his lover came all over him, spraying him with his sticky, glistening white liquid. It only took a few more thrusts before England came deep within America, grunting and collapsing.

America coughed at the impact. "You've got to stop doing that, it really hurts." England looked up and kissed him deeply, making up for the impact. Slowly and sleepily, he untied America and moved off. He fell asleep in America's arms.

In the morning, all that was left in his bed was a note. England wept openly as he read it.

England,

We knew last night that I was free. I've said it for years now that I'd gain independence; it's finally come. I hope one day we'll be as close as we were last night, but for now, I'm prepared to fight until my last breath until I get my freedom in your eyes. I do love you, don't ever forget that. I hope we meet in honour when we next meet.

With all due respect,

The Confederation of America.

So? Tell me about it!

* * *

Oh my god, I had forgotten about this last part. Actually I'd forgotten about the whole thing, but the last part is cute. It's also the only part I read. I hope you like it. Read and Review!


	3. Chapter 3

He was winning, but there was still a threat. He was nearly secure, but he was still at war. He was asleep, but he was awoken by a harsh call from the sentry outside. "Sir, you've been challenged by England himself!" That got America's attention as he struggled to wake up. His dreams had included the strange lands nobody really knew about yet. It seemed to be calling to him. He shook sleep and dreams from his head as he pulled on his belt and clipped on his sword, fastened his boots, and second guessed the coat and hat; if he was to be fighting, he'd need all mobility he could get; England was stronger, so he had to be fast. With that, he grabbed two pistols and a lantern and tore from his tent.

In the distance on yesterday's battlefield, he saw a flickering lantern and knew that it must be England. America went to greet his former protector and see about this direct challenge. They had met each other on the battlefield before, but never alone. When he was just twenty yards away, England called to him. "This is the end. I'll defeat you one on one and then you will be forced to come back to me. Let's not shed any more blood." He was dressed ominously in a dark cloak and a rather absurd hat with a, far too large in America's opinion, feather on top.

America drew his sword. It wasn't fancy, but the iron was mined and forged in Pennsylvania and was purely American. He set down his lantern, and stood in a fighting stance. "It'll be my pleasure to win independence in a duel. Then you'll go back to your little island and leave me alone!" The guns were shifted for easier access. England had taken off his cloak and had wrapped it around his left arm, which was still holding his lantern.

His clear green eyes flashed menacingly, and America involuntarily took a step backwards. "Had enough already? This will be over quickly, then." He slashed at America's arm, but he managed to block just in time. His parry was sloppy, however, and there was a huge nick in his blade. He would have to be more careful. England continued to cut at anywhere he could, faking and slashing, and cutting faster than lightning. The lantern wasn't helping; America was half blind due to the glint and glare, but he couldn't let that bother him. Finally he managed to toss England's blade, if not out of his hand, at least away from himself and made a cut for England's head. The blade was stopped by something, and for a second he thought he might have killed England. Then he heard laughter. His blade was wrenched from his grasp and tossed at least ten feet away from him. Something else fell, and he realized that it was the cloak wrapped around England's arm that had blocked his cut. He reached for a pistol, but as soon as he grabbed it, he was kicked over and a sword was thrust through his right hand.

A scream pierced the night. People must have heard it in both camps, but it felt like the two of them were still the only two people in the world. England sank to his knees just a few feet from America in shock. "I don't feel any pain. I should feel like my right hand was stabbed through, but I feel nothing. This isn't right. If you were really mine, I should feel pain. I will feel the pain!" He reached for his belt knife and positioned himself to make the cut, but the knife was kicked from his hand.

America had twisted himself enough to save England the hurt. "Don't do it. I'm free. Just let me go." England shakily stood and unpinned America from the ground and looked at the hand in the torchlight.

"You need bandaging. Here, let me help you." He picked up the tattered cloak and began to tear strips from it and wrapped them firmly around the younger…country's hand. "That should hold he blood back for now. I'm supposing you can walk?"

America tested his legs on the ground and found he could, but he stayed seated down. "I'll stay here for a while. Stay or go." The brat! Only had his independence for five minutes and he was already ordering him around? Who did he think he was, anyway? But England stayed, standing a few feet away, looking at the stars. America played subconsciously at his bandage as he did the same. Neither spoke for the longest time.

"Hey, England?"

"Mm?"

"Can we still have sex?"

England was taken aback at the blunt question. They weren't connected by anything anymore. There was no promise that America was going to come back to him. There was nothing there but this question. They had only ever made love when England wanted to, when he wanted to control America. Why would the young nation now want to continue? It didn't make much sense to him. "Why?"

"Because you feel nice. You know, when you're not stabbing me." He tried to laugh, but couldn't quite do it. "I'm afraid of losing you," he tried.

Now England was just confused. He missed him, felt for him, liked him enough to make love, but still wanted independence? "Then why the revolution?"

"Isn't it obvious? I need to become independent so that I can look you in the eye, so that we're equal, or at least in the same order of magnitude. I can't feel inferior to you anymore. Well, to anyone." It was silent as England wouldn't respond. "So, can we?"

England had to think a long time. They weren't bound anymore by their tight bond, but if they didn't have that bond, they might end up with something else. Who knows, it might even end up as good as before. They could have something that they made together. They still had their trade relationship didn't they? And besides, he liked how America felt too. Warmth radiated next to him and he looked up from his thoughts to see that America had taken the liberty of removing his shirt and boots and was only an inch away from England. His breath moved up his neck and close to his mouth, breathing lightly there, but not making contact. "Yes."

The lips made contact and he moved to straddle England's hips. The kiss deepened and America nibbled at England's lip, begging for entrance. The request was granted and America began to explore the hot moist cavern greedily. Of course he tasted like ale; the water here was nearly undrinkable and what else would one flavour their water with? The taste was comforting and he grew needy. America wrapped his arms around England's neck, forcing their mouths together tighter, sealing the air between them. Then he felt a laugh as England engaged his tongue and felt his own tongue forced back into his own mouth by the far more skilled one. He whimpered slightly that England had once again regained control. He knew deep down that he would indeed be bottom, but he tried to put up a fight, so that it would at least look like he had some pride left. When it came to England, he needed pride; when it came to sex with England, he had none.

England sat up, bracing himself with his elbow and forearm, and he reached down, cupping America's cheek with the other hand, squeezing, getting a strange moan he hadn't heard yet from him. He set to work needing and squeezing the perfect ass as he worked to maintain dominance in his mouth. Sure, he lost him as a colony, but he was hardly a powerful country; less powerful even than…Estonia. He would always maintain dominance and prestige over such a nation. But he felt the best, tasted the best, and sounded the best.

America felt himself tipping backwards and knew what was coming, broke the kiss, sliding down England's front to hastily remove England's pants. He pulled down the britches and was disappointed that England hadn't been particularly engaged. "I suppose your thoughts have been elsewhere?" questioned America. England was a little embarrassed but answered with a kiss to the top of America's head. "That's okay; I'll take care of you."

He slid his mouth over the soft cock and began to undulate his tongue against it. The muscle grew plump and stiff in his mouth as he continued to move his mouth around, painfully slow. England groaned, trying to encourage movement, and bucked, only to be pushed firmly back to the ground while the tongue worked some of the best, and slowest, magic he'd ever felt. He felt his legs begin to quake as he was brought close America smiled; glad finally to have a way to torture him. At last, he had that fine British cock in his mouth, answering to him and his command after waiting for long enough. Soon, he had it hard and red from the friction. He moved to kiss England again, but was unceremoniously flipped over onto his back and stripped of his trousers. The last barrier between England and America now securely done away with England set to business, tracing along America, feeling along his strong back, shoulders, arms; when had he gotten so muscular? He was thin and wiry not so long ago. America was lop-sided; the bandaged hand was propped up against the dirt but he seemed overly careful not to put any weight on it. England traced his hand and felt a damp squishy substance. It must have been the blood. His fingers came away damp and sticky, and darker than the rest of his pale skin. He couldn't see that they were red, but they smelled of iron, and what else could it be but blood? America whined and twitched at the touch. "England, that's a really fresh wound."

Getting an idea, he rubbed the blood all over his index and middle fingers and used the blood as lubricant and he pressed into the young country. America was uncomfortable and he squirmed a little and voiced his discomfort. England ignored it; the pain would be over soon anyway. He began to scissor and prod for America's bundle of nerves. America grunted and bucked as it was hit, and stopped grumbling about how disgusting it was that they were using blood.

After he was stretched enough to be deemed ready, England brought out his hand, still slightly bloody, and spread his own pre cum over his length before slowly sliding into America's hole. America winced slightly as England shoved his way in, waiting only a few seconds before pulling back out and in. The rhythm was slow, but felt good in all the right places. America grunted as he was filled so completely and so magnificently. Re rolled his hips, trying to make England thrust faster, and England was all too willing to comply. He quickened the pace, bringing the most delicious sounds from America's lips. "Mmh! England! M-more!" The sounds rolled away into the black night, shared only between the two of them, and maybe the stars.

Speaking of stars, were they getting brighter? It was only an illusion; England had found America's prostate. And that ringing…was his own screaming. England was smirking down at him, all too pleased with himself. He stopped and instead responded with grunts of pleasure and angled his hips up for better contact. He felt the pressure building, and it was only a matter of time now…something would set him over the edge…just a few more thrusts…white encapsulated his vision as he tensed up, spraying his seed over their chests. He lay back panting as England continued to thrust. The sight of his ex-colony looking so divine, lying down beneath him on the dewy battlefield basking in the continued pleasure and his own afterglow was enough to send England over the edge. With one last thrust, he buried himself deep in his…friend? Ally? Fellow nation? Fellow nation. And came deep, but did not pull out at once.

He lay down more gently with America than in the past, just listening to the sounds of the night, their breathing, feeling the sweat and cum drip off of them. It was almost dawn before they actually stood and dressed, each going back to their respective camps without a word. That morning the war was over. That morning America was lost forever. That morning was only the start of something much greater.

I really like this chapter for a few reasons. It's the first time America's exposed to war and violence and so is the first step on his road to becoming the natioin he is today, and also it's the first time England sees him as a country. I really do think, however that the first thing America would think of after winning the Revolution would be having sex, since he's such a daftie.

Well, let me know what you think!

"He's not getting away with this."

"Not getting away with what?" The Canadian looked honestly baffled. America had come bursting through the door to his apartment without even a hello and had started into a semi-coherent rant about something...if only he'd had his tea, but it was only seven.

"Impressment! He's impressed my sea men again!" America seemed hysterical. "He doesn't see me as a real country yet. Sure he signed the Treaty of Paris, but he won't treat me like a country."

Canada stared to head to his kitchen, "I'm putting water on; do you want tea?"

"Yeah." He paused for a second. "Hey, are you even listening to me?"

"Yes, America, you're tired of impressment. What do you want me to do about it?" His carpet slippers brushed across the soft floor as he padded to the kitchen. He hadn't even changed into the day's clothes; America had woken him up with all his knocking.

America followed him in, not even bothering to take off his muddy shoes at the door. "Join me in freedom!"

Canada froze. He liked England a lot, at least a lot more than France. Why would he rebel against the one nation which had ever treated him with so much care and kindness? "America, I don't think that'll do any good. Besides, it sounds like you just want revenge, and I don't want any part of that." He filled the kettle and stirred the embers of his Franklin stove. 'An American invention,' thought is half-brother.

"I just don't want to see you taken advantage of the same way I was. And still am in some ways." Still facing Canada, he sat down at the low kitchen table. "So yeah, I'm here to take you away."

Canada turned to him with a serious expression. "You can't make me." That was the first time that the timid man had stood up to America. They had always been as close as peas in a pod, even as America had broken away from England's rule and Canada had not.

"Mattie, I don't understand. He doesn't respect us; why should we stay with him?"

"You're not listening to me; I LIKE IT WITH HIM! Why can't you see that? Why do you try to take that away from me?" Canada looked as if he had tears in his eyes. The sight made America want to approach him and hug him until he was sure he wouldn't cry, but he knew from past experiences that though Canada's physical symptoms would show, he didn't want them to be noticed, ever. He'd cry in an argument, but he'd still be angry.

"Indeed, why would you ask him to do such a thing? If you have a problem with me, you could just ask." America spun around faster than a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs and looked as sheepish as a child with their hand in a cookie jar. Canada, on the other hand, blushed bright red, and turned to see to the tea, taking down cups and leaves. "So what is it this time, America?"

America was quick to recover. He stood and shook off his nerves. "England, since I've left you, you've persisted to impress my sea men, navy and merchant ships into your navy. I'm an independent country, and you'll have to start respecting me as one."

"On the contrary, America, I think you've been itching for a war ever since you broke away." He circled around Canada's kitchen as if it were his own, opening the pantry and taking out a tin of muffins and some current preserves. "Perhaps you've just been trying to find an excuse for me to exert my dominance over you and put you back where you belong?" A crash came from across the room as Canada dropped a tea cup and saucer and muttered an apology, face redder than before, if that were possible. "What's it been now? Thirty nine years? That's a long time, even for a country. I wonder what it must be like to not know another's touch for so long."

"That's enough! I'll not take that anymore. If you won't stop impressing my ships, I'm taking Canada and I'm leaving you for good." He tried to look threatening in the eye of the proud, noble country. He didn't come off as well as he would have liked.

"Canada?"

"Yes, England?" Said country moved closer to his new partner and wrapped his arms firmly around the slight frame of the skittish country, pressing against him.

"Have I told you yet how beautiful you look this morning?"

"Er, no; I don't believe so." The bashful Canadian looked as if he wanted to fall through the floor rather than be hit on in front of his brother.

"You look brilliant; pure and clean and god do you smell fantastic." He looked past his new partner to his old one, searching for a reaction of jealousy or anger. Without breaking eye contact with the American, he bent down and kissed the Canadian and ravished his mouth, leaving no crevice untouched. Canada seemed to melt into the older country, becoming perfectly aligned and completely dependent on his protector. America was disgusted. Or at least he should have been. It was his old lover and his best friend. Why would that be turning him on? Wait, who said this was turning him on? England's hand slid down Canada's front and over his crotch. The colony's breath shuddered and he seemed to flutter a little. America should have left then, there was no need for him to stay, and it was pretty obvious that he would only get in the way if he stayed. To be honest, though, it was...interesting to watch. England noticed this interest. "So are you leaving or joining us?"

Oh, he really should have just high tailed it then, but he couldn't just leave Canada to England like that. He deserved better. He deserved to be free like America. While his head told him it wasn't a good idea, his mouth said, "I'm challenging you, England. I'm going to win Canada's freedom, and you'll stop impressing my ships."

England smirked at that. Sure, the youngster had won his own freedom, but he was weak and couldn't stand up to two countries, much less without France's help. "All right, but I'm going to win you back as my own."

The poor Canadian was left without a say in the matter, although to be honest, his French side was more than willing to deal in that sort of proposition. He felt himself be encircled by the American's arms and feathery kisses were given up and down his neck. At the same time, the hand resting on his hip moved, rubbing him, coaxing him to life. "England..." He would never beg, he'd never have to. It was never asked of him; he was the favourite. Pleased to lay back and have control taken from him, pleased to be pleased. He wanted to feel more, he wanted to be filled. He wanted the Englishman to fuck him senseless. Leaning up with lust hazed eyes, he pressed up against the Englishman.

To be honest, America felt rather out of place, but, Canada should be free, and he had his own motives. He was owed that much at least. He was quiet, but he really was a great person. His hands slid down Canada's front and rather clumsily groped him through his pants. Canada muttered something in French, not understood by either of his partners. America took it as a go-ahead, and pushed his hand into the colony's pants, found his member and began stroking sensuously, just enough to evoke a reaction of need from the Canadian. He tensed noticeably when England pressed against Canada, grinding against him, and resultantly the back of his hand as well. England...he had been happy in those days, when he was a British colony. So happy.

Canada was getting hard fast, and wanted more before he climaxed. "Should we perhaps move to the bed?" He looked so innocent and questioning that one might think he was a blushing virgin. America certainly did. England smirked, and picked the Canadian up bridal style and carried him off, all but ignoring America in the kitchen. He followed awkwardly, almost not sure whether or not he should. The Canadian's bedroom was warmer than the rest of the house, heat radiating from the still hot embers from last night's fire. Canada was laying on the bed, catching his breath, but England was facing him, almost challengingly.

America took the initiative, and brushed past the older country, and knelt on the bed, above the younger. Their mouths met in a passionate kiss, America clumsily took control of the colony's mouth, bruising his lips with the kiss, deepening it, tasting him, feeling along his teeth and gums. He was starting to feel very turned on himself, blood pumping to his centre. He unbuttoned the Canadian's shirt, revealing pale skin and a lean chest, and pink, pert nipples. He worked his way down Canada's jawline, licking and nipping, trying to taste all of his brother's skin. And Canada was making the most beautiful noises in response. He reached a nipple, kissing it ever so gently, hands already working their way farther down. As his mouth worked over the nipple, he unfastened the pants, pulling forth the cock he had wondered about for so long.

Canada was already mostly hard, and the sight was astounding. America pulled off his pants entirely, and knelt over the exposed, tender Canadian and kissed around his base, taking time to gently suck the Canadian's balls, then trace up the vein from base to tip, where he began to suck the head, only lightly at first, then harder, fisting what was not in his mouth. Canada began to whimper, fisting the coverlet, and bucking into America's mouth, trying to get more than the very tip into that lovely wet cavern. America read this as a cry in pleasure for more, and he went down lower, forcing Canada into heaven at every plunge downwards, lips and tongue working to bring him to climax. "America..." It was hard to think, let alone speak. "America, I...want to suck you too." He waited, and it was clear the American had no idea, so he instructed, "Lay down over me so we can blow each other." America was a little awkward as he positioned himself, especially when he saw England watching them with such interest. Of course he would be watching, the pervert.

Thoughts of England flew from his mind as the Canadian grabbed hold of his hips and deep throated him. How had he managed that? When did he learn to do such things with his tongue? America couldn't help himself as he thrust lightly, even as Canada tried to hold him still. The cock before him was already painfully hard, but it took the a moment for him to remember what it was that he was doing, and then he just let his body take over as he sucked and licked at his brother's cock.

Cool, slick fingers began touching and kneading his ass, squeezing him, rubbing. America rolled his hips at the touch, even as Canada continued to suck him off. One hand ran along his crack, slicking him, rimming, and then pressed in forcefully. It had been so long since he's slept with anyone that it hurt a little, but the sucking just made him need the contact all the more. He tried to keep some sort of rhythm as he was fingered and sucked, but couldn't manage it, leaving him to bob his head randomly, sucking his brother to climax. America came first, straining to stay as relaxed as possible as he orgasmic. Another finger was added and America winced in pain.

Canada's only thought now was the mouth on him, moving clumsily but beautifully. If it had really been as long as his lover had said, he could be forgiven, but god did this feel magnificent none the less. He opened his eyes to watch his lover prepare America, watch him as he lazily stroked himself. He was just reaching up to touch his lover when America deep throated and sucked hard, and he felt his sac tightening as he was pushed over the edge as well. He lay there panting for a little while, hazy and euphoric, content to watch the next events unfold.

Without Canada's help, England was a little more tentative about stretching America out. It had been a long time, and he didn't want to hurt America. On the contrary, he wanted to make America feel so good he had to re-join as part of the British Empire. After another minute of slowly stretching him out, he aligned himself and slowly pressed in.

He still felt so good. He wanted so badly to just thrust to completion, but he held himself back. America was trembling a little, obviously pained by the intrusion. It was all he could do not to cry out in pain, gritting his teeth, breathing raggedly. Hands began to run over his chest and thighs comfortingly, trying to make him relax, kneading his tense flesh, trying to massage the pain away. Eventually, he felt America relaxing, and he was able to risk movement. As slowly as he could, he pulled out and pressed back in. The pressure around him was just so. Just as he had remembered it. It had been far too long. America whined as he was stretched apart, but England couldn't stop now. America was still uncomfortable, so he moved his hand from the thigh to his member, fisting gently against the spent length, trying to coax him to life, trying to make it as enjoyable for America as it was for him.

It took a while, but eventually America stopped trembling, and pressed against the hand, searching for the pleasure which helped to ease the pain. As England slowly thrust, Canada amused himself by tracing the muscled lines of America's chest and abdomen, drawing designs with the trails of sweat. America was very beautiful. Perhaps if he joined them, he would get to do this more often. It would be nice. It had taken a while, but America was finally accustomed to the feeling, stretched out enough to enjoy him. There really was no other feeling like it, the sensation of England's length running along his insides, placing pressure in all the right places. He was enjoying himself, and he felt himself slowly bending at the elbows, falling in slow motion onto the soft mattress. Then it happened, he felt his prostate hit.

England knew when he hit, because America began to scream with his accent using words commonly left unused in this day and age. He took the liberty of forcing himself into America deeply and passionately, making America surrender, penetrating him until there was nothing left. "America, say that you'll be my territory again. SAY IT!"

America whined, and rolled his hips backwards, trying to finish, trying to reach orgasm. He needed England, he would always need England. But he wouldn't be ruled by him. He could never do that again. "N-no..." England didn't hear him, he couldn't for the blood pounding in his ears as he reached his high. As he rode out his climax, America followed suit. America lay there for a few minutes as England pulled out and rolled off of him.

It was Canada who spoke first. He placed his hand under his brother's face and lifted his chin. "So, you'll not be joining us after all?" He looked sad. As a colony, he could only trade with parts of the British Empire, and it would be easier to see America if he didn't have the border anymore.

America pulled himself up and looked down, not due to shame, but he couldn't face them anymore. Not after what they had all just done. He was feeling like the outcast again. "No. I can't. I've just...got to leave." He dressed in silence, trying to get out of there as fast as possible. The others were looking at him, and he finally asked. "You've been staring. What is it?" Canada pointed to his shoulder. There was blood soaking through his white shirt. When had that happened. America sighed, nodded his thanks, and left. On his way out, he noticed that the bread was burning in the skillet.

I feel like that was terrible, but honestly I never saw how hard a three way would be to write. I wanted it to be all different and interesting, but wow...that was a challenge. Anyway, while I was writing this I was a little confused about the difference between a colony and a territory and also put a lot of thought into why the characters are England and America. Canada's just as American; he lives on the continent too. Just like two dozen other countries. Maybe I should write a story about all the countries making fun of them for not being called the United Kingdom and the United States. I mean, that would be awkward due to dialogue, but really, they're political entities not geographical entities. If you read this far, mention an adjective describing your favourite candy in the review.

* * *

Oh my god. I didn't know I wrote a three way. I'm not reading that. Tell me if you liked it though. Maybe I'll write another...maybe not.


	4. Chapter 4

181 years is a long time. For anything, but especial to keep a promise, but America did keep it. In 1764, he had promised to Britain that one day, he'd end up on top and now, due to the Second World War, he was had the most military strength, the largest economy, and the most international influence in the world. England wasn't struggling or anything, but there was a definite gap between when the dwindling British Empire and the thriving American Empire. However, the two nations had never been closer.

They had been trade partners for years; America grew its economy and Britain helped them along. Since then, America had bought Louisiana from France, which had been encouraged by England, as France had been their enemy for hundreds of years. He had fought Mexico, losing his eyesight and gaining Texas. He had suffered a civil war, a war with Spain; they had fought together side by side to help France defeat the Germans twice, and now all the bitterness had faded. Almost.

The war had now ended, and the two were meeting along with the USSR and France to discuss reparations in Potsdam. Britain was somewhat impressed with how well America had done for himself. Well, he did have the best teacher. By 1922, England had controlled the world, but could he hand over the power? It had been so long since he'd been second best. Somehow, he'd thought the day would never come when he would fall from his high position. But so had every great empire and so will America someday.

England was in his room, dressing for the meeting. He now wore a military uniform, coded especially for his status as the nation itself, the very epitome of modern England. He combed his hair, using a little grease to keep it calm; it was so difficult to manage that it always flopped to its natural state in minutes. At lease he tried. The banged open behind him and America swaggered in, clutching a coffee cup and wearing a very similar outfit, a little lighter, and covered by a bomber jacket. His glasses made him look...professional. As long as he didn't open his mouth, he was the very image of a world leader. Watching over his shoulder in the mirror, England felt a pinch in his pride.

"'Morning, England!" greeted America, in his broad accent.

"Good morning. If you have the time, would you mind quickly going over the proposals with me? I've got my notes, and I think we have the same agenda, but I'd like to make sure we're on the same page. "England finished and addresses America properly. America didn't have any materials with him. "America, you do have a plan, don't you?"

America wasn't daunted. "Of course I have a plan; you understand European politics and I provide the figureheads and the nuclear missiles and then we blow them up if they don't comply."

England wasn't sure if America was joking, but decided to ere on the safe side. "America, we'll not be blowing anyone up, and besides, this is a peace conference. We're going to divide Germany and decide that Russia cannot cede any more nations. Honestly, I thought you played attention; how did you get so powerful if you don't pay attention?"

America slurped his coffee. "You were always there for me, and I have about three times as many people than you do; that helps." At least he admits that I help him and there are uncontrolled factors involved. "Anyway, I was right; you did the research so I don't have to now."

"Really, America, you are going to have to start acting independently. Sometimes I wonder the point of your revolution and 1812 if you don't embrace the independence and the responsibility that comes with it." England wasn't mad, but nothing could get America riled faster than saying his revolution was futile, and right now, America needed some motivation to do his own work.

"Responsibility?" England nodded. "Like fulfilling a 181 year old promise?"

England looked confused. "I don't understand. 181 year old promise?" Could he possibly mean? No, he couldn't have foreseen this, not from so long ago. How long had England allowed himself to be used against himself like this by the daft American?

America smirked. "Remember what happened back in 1764; you raised the taxes on legal documentations and I didn't want to pay, but you tried to control me. What did I promise that day?"

England thought back. It was so long ago, but he remembered it clearly. The little colony had decided he was too big for his britches and tried to rebel. He had failed completely. "As I remember, that day I remained dominant easily-"

"But what did I promise?"

England had lectured through a metaphor; he had shown America how he could enjoy himself without any control over himself. When he had left, he had said, 'I may not be leaving today, Britain, but I won't be around forever. And some day, I'll end up on top.' He still remembered it after all these years. It had been a chilling thought, but by now he'd gotten used to the idea. "I remember."

America moved closer to him. "Then you won't mind if I do this." America gently held England's hand and held it firmly in his own hand, then kissed him chastely on the mouth. It was fleeting, feathery, and gone in an instant. He opened his eyes to check England's expression.

England was surprised that America hadn't tried to hurt him or show dominance. There was no trace of revenge, just a respect for the other nation, and a desire to show their long felt love. "America, what is the meaning of this?" he whispered. "Shouldn't you want revenge?"

America grinned against his ear, feathering his lips along the side of his face. "Revenge for what? *kiss* our alliance? *kiss* our trade partnerships? *kiss* our love? *kiss* Love shouldn't hurt." He kissed England again a little more firmly, but just as sweetly. "We've come so far since then."

England kissed him back, just as softly. He knew what was coming, and he wanted to keep America feeling soft and gentle. He raised his hand to smooth through the American's hair, and he wasn't stopped. No arm reached up to swat it down, and he wasn't pushed against a wall and told to hold still. It was pleasant to just kiss. But it didn't stay just kissing for long.

At some point, England felt strong hands on his lower back, pulling him into an embrace, their chests pushed together warmly and snugly. England relaxed; he had been tense about the conference with two such super powers, but now one of them was being so affectionate. He would be protected. That was a strange feeling; he could now rely on someone stronger than himself. Strange times.

America started to kiss lower, and started to unfasten his jacket and loosen his tie. They fell to the floor and England returned the favor. America held him closely and kissed along his strong, scarred body. England hadn't been unscathed the first time they had made love, there had been plenty of new and old wounds; just one year previously, he'd dealt with the second Jacobi Rebellion. He now had slit a scar to the back of the neck from the Napoleonic wars, a slice across the forearm from the Crimean war. From the Zulu war, he had obtained a burn up his left calf. The Boer war left two toes on his left foot paralyzed, the Anglo Irish war had nearly left him without an arm, broken and ripped; ugly, but strong again. The Great War had left him with a large "X" cut into his back from a plane which had crashed. America had heard of many of these scars. He now had a large burn mark obscuring the right half of his chest and much of that arm. "London Blitz?" he asked. England nodded. It had been the worst attack in almost one thousand years.

He traced the scars on America's body as well. There was a black mark on the palm of his hand from the revolution, a long thin scratch on his collar bone from 1812, his eyes were ruined by the Mexican American War, he had been slashed across the stomach from his civil war, his ankle had been snapped and never healed with much flexibility from the Spanish American war; the Great War had left him with a metal splinter in his leg which could never be removed, and this last war...he lost the glass ceiling, along with his innocence and naiveté. It was a psychological burden which England had suffered a long time ago, and now saw burned behind America's eyes. He'd have to wake up soon and snap out of his hare-brained state.

"I never realized how we would look. The both of us stand so proudly, like it had never happened, like we can't show anyone else how much we hurt, we keep a persona, a...a..."

"Stiff upper lip?" America smiled and kissed him. The silly British phrases came in handy sometimes, he had to admit. He trailed his hands down England's sides and back, ghosting along the pants line, asking permission with hesitancy. England replied by unfastening America's trousers first. America took the hint, stepped out, and the fixed England's. America the picked up England and carried him over to his bed, where he straddled his waist and kissed him again, this time with a little more lust.

The light blue eyes had indeed turned cerulean, and altogether he looked as fit as anything. England lay back, reacting to America's light touches all over his body. It had happened so slowly that England hadn't noticed for some time, but he was half hard just from kissing and talking. He blushed and the American noticed. He smirked and realized what England must have thought of. He ground his hips against England's erection, making him moan. He wasn't there to torture England. He was there to show that he was finally and equal; there was no need to control, even if he was going to top this time.

He bent down and pulled off England's boxers to reveal his growing arousal. He breathed onto the tip before swallowing it whole. England's mind went fuzzy and he struggled to clear it; it felt so good. America's mouth started bobbing and swirling and England felt his hand go to the back of America's head, trying to move it fast enough and yet resist the urge to buck into America's mouth. His mind stayed hazy, and he stopped trying to clear it. America noticed the change and smirked up at the Englishman, who didn't seem to notice; his mind was fogged by the bliss which was the American's mouth.

The mouth left, leaving a sticky string of saliva and pre across his thigh. America sat up and started rifling through the pants pockets which lay strewn at the foot of the bed. He pulled out a tape of lube and started to spread it across his fingers. "You're not going to use saliva?" asked England.

America's eyes creased in humor, "No way that does next to nothing as far as lube go. It soaks right through the intestine wall. This'll last longer and won't hurt so much." He spread it copiously across his hands and then proceeded to kneed England's rear to try and get him to relax as much as possible. After a few minutes, he poured more on and positioned his hand to enter England.

"It'll feel weird at first, but it'll feel good once you get used to it." A finger then poked through, his body reacting to keep all materials inside, effectively pulling the finger in, and the finger moved to accommodate the presence. It moved about a bit, and America watched England's face as he felt one of the weirdest things he'd ever experienced. He pulled out and added another finger. They were drawn in the same way, and England squirmed. America scissor them, and England felt the strange flipping in his...entrance? He'd certainly never viewed it as such...and felt himself yell something unintelligible when he felt a brush against a particular organ. America smirked, "really, England? I thought you were still a little tight, but if you insist..."

Was that what he had yelled? America saw the panic in his face, and said, "Relax, I'm just kidding, you'll be fine." Then the fingers curled again, brushing those nerves again and again, England felt ill with pleasure. His breath hitched so that he could barely breathe. A third finger was added and he felt stretched to the limit. It didn't hurt, there had been enough time, but to the limit none the less. The wriggling continued, he moaned and then the hand was gone and he whimpered.

America had stopped to take off his own boxers. He paused for a minute to add enough lube to his cock, and then slathered some on England's, pumping him while he slowly slid into his prepared entrance. England winced a little so America held still for a minute to allow him to adjust. It all went away when America started moving, though. Their hips slammed together slowly and forcefully, and America hit the right spot almost every time. England felt the pressure building, the slamming into the mattress, the smell of America's wonderful body, and suddenly, it was too much for him. "A-America! I'm going to...I can't-"

"Do it."

America hadn't tried to stop him; he released all over their chests and America took a couple more thrusts to come inside England. He didn't crush the smaller nation, but rolled off. He nudged England's ear with his nose, making him smile.

England had to ask, "You could have done to me what I did to you; why not?"

America was forced to smile. "Why indeed? We have a deep mutual respect for each other; you've had my back all these years and now I have you in your dark hours. We've always supported each other and always will. There's no need for revenge when it comes to love; it's not as convoluted as European politics. Honestly, though, when will you all learn to get over your petty quarrels?" England smiled; there was some truth to that.

Then England remembered. "America, this may be a bad time, but we're late to the conference."

So, final chapter. What do you think?

* * *

This was my last repost on this site. I'm so relieved. And exhausted. It's been a journey seeing all these stories I had written forever ago and some of them I like and some of them I'm ashamed to have written. But they all helped me on my way to being a better writer, and I'm totally grateful for the opportunity to learn how to get better at writing and to all of you who tell me nice things and some not so nice things when I need to hear them about my writing. Asta la Pasta!


End file.
